Advent Calendar Day 11

Good morning! Less than two weeks until Christmas!

This morning we have more fiction! Today's offering is a sweet and sexy little coda to Winter Kill by the ever-so-talented Natasha Chesterbrook. There's a little story behind this coda. Remember last year when I asked everyone to "write the beginning paragraph of a holiday coda for your favorite Josh Lanyon couple?" Well, that's what Natasha did--and then went on to write the coda too! Isn't that wonderful?

Seeing that it yielded great results, maybe we'll try that exercise again this year! :-)

Winter Kill Coda

Natasha Chesterbrook

Rob was surprisingly nervous as he offered the brightly wrapped gift to Adam. Light from the fireplace glinted off the gold and silver wrapping cinched by a large red bow, curling ribbon snaking in all directions and a silver bell no less to round out the ostentatious display. The store’s wrapping department had gone beyond festive into Christmas mania. That’s what you get for waiting until the last shopping day - Santa’s elves had nothing on the seasonal worker stressed out from the overload of too much glitter, faux fir scent and one too many peppermint lattes. He didn’t want to admit why he waited so long to shop. Adam could be so hard to read even after over a year together. So yeah, he was nervous. What was the worst that could happen?

When the paper fell away and Adam opened the box, Rob wasn’t expecting his next words, “And here I thought neckties were as kinky as you got.”

“Huh?” Well, Rob looked inside the box to confirm its contents. The shiny black leather collar with brushed silver studs lay nestled in the tissue paper with the coiled length of matching leather leash beneath. “That’s a – “ 

He blushed hot at the joke and reached for the box. Adam deftly moved away while snatching the collar and held it up to his neck. “Is this what you were thinking?” Adam’s laughter uncoiled the tension in Rob’s shoulders.

“They’re not for you, Darling.” Sometimes he couldn’t help himself even if Adam has heard all the jokes before.

Rob noticed how Adam’s smile shone bright in the winter morning sun from the front windows. The day was beautiful much like the man before him.

“Yeah? So you’re going to wear it?” The single lifted brow on Adam’s handsome face was the last straw to Rob’s restraint. He swooped in, grabbing his man around the waist, serving up the kiss with more enthusiasm then finesse because he knew Adam wouldn’t care, would actually prefer it.

Once they’d parted for breath as much as to finish the moment, Rob stated, “Sally Gardner’s Rhodesian’s puppies are weaned.”

Adam looked at Rob with a mixture of wry amusement and fondness and said softly, “You got me a dog.”

“No, I got you a collar. The dog’s for me.” The kiss this time was tender and soft and seemed to last forever.

Gomez Pugh on WINTER KILL

Back again with another narrator interview. This month we've got Gomez Pugh talking about narrating WINTER KILL.

WINTER KILL was an interesting production. I was in hurry when I booked the first narrator--we were in the midst of moving--and because I'd been so fortunate in the past with other narrators, I ignored my doubts when I heard the first fifteen minutes (if you're new to self-producing audio, those first fifteen minutes are your last chance to pull out of the deal with no harm no fault). This turned out to be a huge mistake. When I listened to the final production, I knew it was a disaster. But just to be sure, I had a couple of friends listen as well and...yeah. Bad news.

But it was my own fault, so I contacted the narrator, told him I'd pay for the full production but needed to scrap it. He agreed and I began the hunt for my narrator all over again. This time I went with a narrator who I knew would be a sure thing. I'd heard Gomez's previous work on the Psycop series, I checked out all his sound clips, all his previous productions, and then I approached him without putting the book up for any further auditions.

Anyway, the story has a happy ending because I love how WINTER KILL ultimately turned out, even if I did take the long way around. I hope you do too! So without further adieu...

Interview Questions for Gomez Pugh

 

 

Tell us a little bit about your background. How did you get started in narrating/producing audio books? How many audio books have you narrated?

 

GP - My training is in theatre. I have been acting professionally for over a decade. When I moved to LA, a friend referred me for a title he thought would be a good fit and the rest is history! I have narrated over 25 titles.

 

 

How much acting is involved in narrating a story?

 

GP - A great deal. For the narration, it is about being clear and moving the story forward. Figuring out how to navigate long or complicated sentences. Funny enough, I find that my training in Shakespeare helps this a great deal, no matter what type of story I am reading. For the dialogue: it is figuring out who these characters are and how to portray them without the physicality. Pitch, tone, dialects. I often do a lot of research online and collaborate with the author. It is kind of the same process of working with a director at the beginning of rehearsals, figuring out who these people are. Then once I get into the booth, it is like being on stage!

 

What was the most difficult or challenging aspect of narrating WINTER KILL?

 

GP - Differentiating between the two lead characters. They are similar in a lot of ways. I wanted them to sound distinct, but without going too far with “character voices”.

 

 

What character was the most fun to narrate? Why?

 

GP - There were a lot of fun characters on this. Even though Aggie has very few lines, I really like her. She always seemed slightly off her game, either stressed out or overwhelmed. I like her a lot. The others that were a lot of fun were Sandy and Bert. I am a character actor at heart and these guys were a great opportunity to dig in.

 

 

 What character was the most difficult to narrate? Why?

 

GP - Probably Bert. I knew what I wanted him to sound like, but it was challenging to produce that voice. Especially when he spoke more towards the end.

 

 

Was there a particular scene you think you read especially well? Or that you particularly enjoyed reading?

 

GP - I enjoyed reading all of the scenes with Sandy. He was a lot of fun.

 

 

 

 

How awkward is it to read erotic scenes aloud?

 

GP - When I record these books I am alone in the booth. So for the erotic scenes, I am in the moment and connected with what is going on. So it isn’t a big deal. But after the engineer edits and masters the book, if we have to go back and clean up or correct any of those passages together, it gets a little awkward. They have kind of become private moments.

 

 

What’s the most satisfying or rewarding part of narrating/producing an audio book?

 

GP - For me, it’s if the author is happy. They spend so much time creating these characters and this world. It’s like working with a playwright. As an actor you want to do justice to their work. I always enjoy hearing back from the author after they have listened to the audiobook. Especially when they are excited about a particular character or losing themselves in their own story.

 

 

You appear to be much in demand as a narrator. Have you ever found yourself in the position of refusing to narrate a book or a scene?

 

GP - Sure. A couple of times. If I feel a piece is offensive, or just poorly written. But I like connecting with authors I don’t know and forming new relationships, so I am usually pretty open.

 

 

Where can readers/listeners find out more about you and your work?

 

GP - On Audible and on ACX

 

 

 

 

Christmas Coda 40

Adam and Rob from WINTER KILL

 

 

“We could toss a coin,” Rob said. “Heads my family. Tails yours.”

“Let’s just go to your family for Christmas.” Adam glanced at the clock and set his coffee cup in the stainless steel sink.

“If we do go to my family, we’ll for sure go to yours next year. We’ll trade off.”

“Yes,” Adam said with brisk indifference. He was already on his way out the door. In that charcoal gray suit he looked as handsome and stylish as if he was headed for a GQ magazine shoot and not a day of chasing bad guys through the mean streets of Klamath Falls.

Rob put down his coffee cup, following Adam down the stairs that led to the garage.

Adam had been working out of the Bend satellite office for the past four months--which was exactly how long they had been living together.

Rob said, “It’s probably only fair to go to your family. But I can’t deny I’m looking forward to the fun of sharing our meet cute story with the aunts and uncles and cousins. The adorable tale of how a serial killer brought us together...”

Adam, still in motion, threw over his shoulder, “Sure. Up to you.”

Rob stopped midway down the stairs. Adam’s mind was clearly not on the holidays. It wasn’t on Rob at all. He hadn’t even remembered to kiss Rob goodbye. Not that it was a huge deal, but they were both conscious of the fact that they had jobs with a higher level of risk than working in, say, a hardware store.

But Adam was preoccupied with work. Not a big case or anything like that. He was just trying to fit in with his new team, his new boss, his new coworkers, his new partner. The truth was, Bend  was overjoyed to get him, thrilled Adam had opted for their satellite office rather than Portland, but Adam couldn’t see it. He was in high gear all the time. And given the fact that he was by nature an overachiever…Adam giving that extra 110% was frankly exhausting. But Rob got it. Adam had given up a lot--everything--to move to Nearby and be with Rob. Rob was determined to make as much easy for Adam as he could.

Adam jumped in his SUV, hit the automatic garage door opener, and zipped out into the wintry morning. Rob walked slowly back upstairs.

 

* * * * *

 

He was digging Jack Elkins' pickup out of the snowy slush and mud when his cell phone rang.

Adam.

“Howdy.” Rob leaned the shovel against the tailgate.

“Hey.” Adam sounded funny, almost self-conscious. “I think I forgot to say goodbye this morning.”

Rob wiped his forehead, squinting at the white sun through the dark branches of the towering pines. What time was it? Two? Three?

“No worries. You can make it up to me when you say hello.” He was smiling, anticipating that moment. He definitely preferred their hellos to their goodbyes.

“Rob. About Christmas. Whatever you want is fine.”

“Same here,” Rob said. “It’s one Christmas out of all the Christmases we’re going to spend. Who cares whose family goes first?”

There was a sharp silence. Had he said the wrong thing? How could promising to compromise be the wrong thing?

Adam said something gruffly.

“What?” Rob asked.

Adam said clearly, “I just want to be with you.”

Rob’s heart lightened. “Yeah, me too.” A sudden thought occurred. “What if we don’t go anywhere? It’s our first Christmas together. What if we stay home, just the two of us?”

“No, I’m not saying that,” Adam said. “You want to see your family, of course.” He added in that carefully neutral tone that Rob was getting to know meant he cared a lot. “Unless that’s what you want?”

Rob grinned inwardly, but he was touched too. “Hm. I don’t know,” he mused. “What would we do? I mean beyond cook and eat and sleep and…you know, make snow angels.”

He could hear the smile in Adam’s voice. “Snow angels, huh?”

“Welllll, unless you have a better idea.”

“Oh, I have a couple of ideas,” Adam said softly.  

  

The problem with reality

I'm not in a particularly, er, fanciful mood right now. Which is a problem for writing fiction. Because so much fiction is simply improbable if not downright impossible. Especially when it comes to crimes stories. Delightful and enjoyable improbabilities, no question.

That said, I will not deny that some very amazing things happen in real life--things that you pretty much would not believe in fiction. I've been doing a lot of research on the FBI and holy guacamole. Things happen in real life that, were they to happen in a movie, you'd be screaming at your TV.

NOT that I have ever screamed at the TV.

Or at least if I did, I never expected an answer

But I guess it's true that real life is stranger than fiction.

Anyway, for the writer of fiction, it's all about balance. Because a lot of what has to happen in any real life investigation is simply boring and does not belong in storytelling. There are some things we must take for granted. For example, people on stakeout must find ways to relieve themselves. Unless something germane to the plot happens during the we-can-safely-assume behaviors, do we need to see this?

There will be some readers who yes, absolutely want and need to see this. But they are not the majority and their storytelling instincts are poor. Especially when they are wanabe writers themselves. ;-)

Because I am in a FILL OUT ALL FORMS CORRECTLY frame of mind, I've written several thrilling scenes that related to, yes, filling out forms, ordering subpenas, procuring warrants...

And this week I went back and ripped them all out again because, say what?! Real life so rarely makes for good fiction.

And it's even trickier when it comes to romance because I am not in a romantic state of mind. But then again, that might be the right approach for this book where the two protags are not in a romantic state of mind either. But life--and love--have a way of happening while you're busy making other plans.

Anyway, another completely unedited snippet from Winter Kill -- and then Special Agent Adam Darling must get back to filling out form 4506-t AGAIN. Oh wait. That's me, not Darling. I think Darling gets to shoot someone in this chapter.

Chapter One

“It was a mistake bringing in the feds,” Zeke said.

Rob grunted. He thought it was a mistake too, but it hadn’t been his call and it was too late now, so what was the point of bitching? He said, “Feebs.”

“What?”

“The FBI. They call them feebs now.”

“I don’t care if they call them fucking frankfurters.”

Rob grunted.

From the observation deck at Rogue Valley International-Medford Airport they watched in silence as Alaska Airlines Flight 477 touched down, skimmed the rain-blackened runway, and taxied slowly toward the terminal.

Rob straightened. “Come on.”

“There’s no hurry.” Zeke continued to gaze out the wet, streaked window.

The overhead speaker announced the flight’s arrival for anyone who wasn’t paying attention and offered information on collecting baggage to the passengers still sitting on the plane.

A few long minutes passed before the mobile stairway was lined up with the plane doors. The cabin door opened. At last the passengers began to disembark.

Rob’s stomach growled and he glanced at his watch. It was already twelve thirty and in this weather it would take about an hour to drive from Medford to the resort of Nearby. He sighed inwardly. It had been a long morning and it was going to be a long afternoon. Of that, he had zero doubt.

Zeke said suddenly, “Fucking Barbie and Ken!”

A woman carrying a briefcase exited the plane. The rainy breeze tousled her long, pale hair. She threw a comment over her shoulder to a man in an olive rain coat. The man replied and the woman laughed.

Rob smiled grimly because that time Zeke nailed it. Tall and blond and elegant in their His and Hers trench coats, these two looked more like they were auditioning for a hot new TV series than real law enforcement. But law enforcement they were. Real live FBI Special Agents come all the way from sunny Los Angeles to offer their wisdom and expertise.

Yep, it was pretty damned annoying.

“Come on,” he said again, and this time he meant it. Zeke heaved a heavy sigh but followed him downstairs to the Arrival Gate where Barbie and Ken were impatiently scanning the waiting crowd for their welcome committee.

The bystanders parted before Rob and Zeke. There was nothing like a sheriff’s badge to clear a path.

“Special Agents Gould and Darling?” Rob asked. Not that he had any doubt.

The man--Rob’s height, green eyes, short, wavy fair hair--said crisply, “I’m Darling. This is Agent Gould.”

“Deputies,” Gould said. She had a very pretty smile. No question who played Good Cop on that team.

“Special Agent What’dyousay?” Zeke asked.

Darling directed a look that should have left Zeke encased in ice, and Rob preserved his poker face with effort. 

“I’m Haskell. This is Deputy Lang,” Rob said. “How was your trip?”

“Long,” Darling said. “Shall we hit the road?”

“I could see getting that mixed up,” Zeke interrupted with his usual godawful timing.

Darling looked almost human as his green gaze met Rob’s. Gould’s pale brows drew together. “I’m sorry?”

Zeke opened his big mouth again. “I could see how someone might think you were the d--”

Rob spoke over him. “We’re parked in the lot across from the terminal.” He gave Zeke a helpful, hard nudge in the direction of the exit. Zeke winced and glared at him. “You have any luggage?” Rob asked the feds.

Gould held up her briefcase. Darling didn’t seem to hear the question, heading straight for the doors leading out to the rainy gray October day.

They piled into the Rural Patrol SUV, the FBI agents in the backseat and Zeke riding shotgun. Rob started the engine.

“How long a drive is it to the resort?” Darling asked.

“Not quite an hour. Maybe a little longer in the rain.”

“With you driving, definitely a little longer,” Zeke said.

Rob ignored him, pulling out of the parking lot and turning east.

“You really think our DB might be one of the Roadside Ripper’s vics?” Zeke asked, looking back at their passengers.

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Gould said.

“What’s the body count now?” Zeke asked.

“We believe we have twenty-one confirmed kills.” Gould’s voice was pleasant. She might have been discussing the weather.

“I almost applied to the FBI,” Zeke said. “I didn’t want to have to wear a fucking tie all the time.”

Rob managed to swallow his snort. He glanced in the rearview mirror as he merged onto OR-62 West and briefly met Darling’s eyes. Darling’s mouth quirked in a sardonic not-quite-smile.

“Excuse my French,” Zeke added for Gould’s benefit.

“Pas du tout,” Gould returned.

Zeke gave her his biggest, widest grin. She smiled back, But he was wasting his time there. Gould was so far out of his league she might have been from another planet.

 Again Rob’s gaze rose to the rearview and again he met Darling’s ironic regard. Darling did not blink, did not look away. 

Wasn’t green supposed to be the most rare eye color? Rob could believe it in Darling’s case. He’d never seen eyes quite that shade. Maybe Darling wore contacts.

Either way…that was one very direct, very intense regard. In other circumstances, it might mean a couple of things. Even in these circumstances that look might mean a couple of things. Unlikely, but still…

Zeke asked, “How many of those twenty-one vics were in Oregon?”

“Seven,” Gould replied.

“But that doesn’t mean they were killed here.”

“True.”

“They might just have been unloaded here. He’s using the I-5 as his dumping ground, right?”

Darling was now directing his laser stare at the back of Zeke’s head. Rob would not have been surprised to see Zeke’s hair burst into flame, but then that was always a danger given how much hairspray Zeke used. Way more hairspray than straight guys generally went in for, in Rob’s opinion.

“That’s the current theory,” Gould said.

“How many members on your taskforce?” Zeke asked. “The whole West Coast is involved, right?”

“It’s one of the largest ever formed,” Gould answered. “Even we’re not sure of the exact number of team members.” 

Obviously not true, but more polite than what her partner was clearly tempted to tell Zeke.

“You guys okay?” Rob asked. “You hungry?”

“Yeah, I’m hungry,” Zeke said.

“We had a two-hour layover in Seattle,” Darling said. “We’ve eaten. And we’re on a tight schedule.”

Gould glanced at her partner. What she said was, “Gosh, it’s green here. We could use some of this rain in California.”

“We’ve never had a homicide in Nearby,” Zeke said with an edge to his tone. “I know it’s same old same old to you, but to us it’s a big deal.”

“We don’t know we’ve got a homicide now,” Rob said, with a warning look.

It was wasted, of course.

“Right,” Zeke said. “Maybe it was suicide. Maybe John Doe buried himself beneath that rock pile.”

Sunday afternoon, campers had discovered human remains buried in a shallow grave covered with rocks on a decommissioned logging road off of Route 140. Not exactly the Roadside Ripper’s stomping grounds, but for some reason Frankie--Sheriff Francesca McLellan--had decided to call in the feds just to be sure. Which just went to prove what a high profile case the Roadside Ripper was. High profile enough that even in their little corner of the woods, they’d heard about it.

But the chances that this unlucky John Doe was one of the Ripper’s? That seemed pretty farfetched to Rob.

 All the same, twenty-four hours later, FBI Barbie and Ken had shown up on their doorstep.

If it's Friday This Must Be...

I recently saw again the film If it's Tuesday This Must be Belgium.


If It's Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium
Music and lyrics by Donovan P. Leitch (sung by J. P. Rags)

 If it's Tuesday, this must be Belgium
 If it's Wednesday, this must be Rome
 If it's Thursday, this must be Montreux
 I feel I never wanna go home
 If this is London, why ain't it raining?
 The sun is shining on Saint Paul's Dome
 If this is real then I must be dreaming
 Can't wait to tell the folks back home
 Can't wait to tell the folks back home
 If it's Tuesday, this must be Belgium
 If it's Wednesday, this must be Rome
 If it's Thursday, this must be Montreux
 I feel I never wanna go home

To my surprise, it had a completely different ending than the one I remembered. Personally I think my ending was better, but now that I am an adult and I know the "real" ending I probably won't be able to forget how the movie closed.


I also didn't realize Donovan wrote the theme song. I still love Donovan. My babysitter used to go to Donovan concerts and talk about Donovan. ;-) So I have a great, great fondness for Donovan.


Anyway, it's another Friday and I really don't have a lot to say. We are still in Underwriting Hell with the house, so no news there. I have a bunch of people asking stuff of me, and I have no energy to respond--let alone decide whether or not to accept, decline, tackle yet another project, do another interview...


I really had no idea how stressful this House Thing was going to be. And it's right in the middle of two of my biggest projects this year -- Winter Kill which is immediately followed by Jefferson Blythe, Esquire.


 The writing is the only thing I have energy for. It's always like this at a certain point in any given project, but I think I'm more aware of it right now because there are so many other crucial things I am cutting out. I can see very clearly right now how absolutely obsessive I am about work and writing. It produces good books but it's not an attractive personality trait.


But then I am not a "personality." I am a writer. I don't get paid enough to be a "personality."


One of the interesting things in writing is how the characters change through the course of the story. I had a rough idea of who Rob Haskell and Adam Darling were before I ever began Winter Kill.


Clever and ambitious, Special Agent Adam Darling (yeah, he's heard all the jokes before) was on the fast track to promotion and success until his mishandling of a high profile operation left one person dead and Adam "On the Beach."

Deputy Sheriff Robert Haskell may seem laid-back, but he's a tough and efficient cop -- and he's none too thrilled to see feebs on his turf -- even when one of the agents is smart, handsome, and probably gay.


This is what I knew going in. And let me say now that I groan when writers talk about their "muse taking over" and side characters "clamoring to tell their own story." I know given the pressure to be out here being social we all spill a lot of inanities, but... But it is true that the storytelling process is an organic one. Characters and plot do change through the process of writing the story. Dialog evolves and as it evolves new angles appear and pretty soon the characters are off and running. And not always in anticipated directions.


Honestly, that's part of the fun of writing.

Two things I didn't initially anticipate was that Rob might be so laid back he failed to follow through on an investigation, and that lapse might have repercussions. Also, he turns out to be a lot more charming and a lot more of a player than I imagined. But it fits and it works, and those are always the exciting discoveries of storytelling. Those are the ah ha! moments.


And Adam...I initially thought Adam would be a lot more to blame for his own problems. But as the story evolves I see that while Adam was ambitious and he's paid a price in his personal life, professionally he is more a victim of circumstance. To me, that's actually more interesting. And it gives Adam a needed vulnerability.


There was another surprise there too--one that links back to the All's Fair series and one that links ahead to a series out on proposal that I haven't really talked about. I love these little surprises and it seems like readers do too, so I won't ruin them by talking too much about them now.


Anyway, that's where I am this fine April morning. And where are you?

And Then There Were None

Something happened to me yesterday that hasn’t happened in a very long time.

 

I lost a file.

 

As regular listeners know, the next big story up is Winter Kill. The book has been simmering on the back burner of my brain for a couple of years now. Basically it’s about an FBI agent struggling to hang onto his floundering career who gets sent to the Pacific Northwest to check out a possible serial killing. And we all know how that goes.

 

My original outline was okay, but it turned out to be way too similar to another idea I had out on proposal. Or thought I had out on proposal. (That's a whole other story and a half.) So I reworked some things, did a bunch of research, and I rewrote the outline to my great satisfaction.

 

But then the story got pushed back a couple of months because of personal stuff including house hunting and so on and so forth.

 

Long story short, when I opened the Winter Kill file yesterday morning…no updated outline. According to the date on the existing outline word doc, I hadn’t touched the file  since January 27^th . The updates were three weeks ago.

 

I checked every freaking file and folder on my laptop. No. No. NO. No revised outline. If it still exists, I saved it under something so obscure, even I can’t find it. It’s lost. It’s gone girl, gone.

 

I did not take it well.

 

I took it very badly.

 

It’s pretty much the worst thing that can happen to a writer, barring the really big disasters like…stuff I don’t want to think about. Alzheimer’s. Some physical catastrophe that wrecks the brain and robs the mind of words and pictures. But on the normal scale of bad things that can happen to writers, it’s right up there with fried backup drives and stolen laptops.

 

And I was trying to think why. Why did it feel so disastrous? It was only a couple of pages. Maybe at most two thousand words. I thought it all up once, why can’t I just think it all up again? But as I opened the file and stared at that rough initial outline… It’s not just that all the new place and people names and initial cursory field work is gone. That’s tough, yes, but that can all be recreated.  

 

But what can’t be recreated -- not ever, not exactly -- are the story and character details. Not that there were so many, but every word was the key to a line of thought, to images and ideas that were not written down. That didn’t have to be written down, because they existed in the shorthand of the outline.

 

It’s hard to explain what I mean.  And I don’t want to get all woo woo about what is, after all, an intellectual endeavor.

 

Some of it will come back as I begin to rework my way through the research notes. But three weeks is a long time given that the ideas had barely crystallized. It’s not going to be the same.

 

That doesn’t mean I can’t write the book. I can. And for all I know, it’s going to be a better book. The second outline was better than the first, so maybe the third will be better than the second. But that outline -- the pleasure I felt in figuring out that particular version of the story -- losing it is an almost physical pain.

 

And that is the weird, weird thing about creativity.  And why writing a work of fiction is not like putting together a marketing report.

 

***Updated 3-15 to say that I -- *blush* -- found the missing file. It turned out it I handwrote the new notes (which I very rarely do) and I left them in the notebook of projects still under consideration (which was the wrong place). So...false alarm. *cough*  As you were!

Spring is coming...

Spring is in the air!

Well, not really, but if I keep saying it, it will eventually be true.

The air starts to feel different this time of year. Technically Spring is still about a month away, but the light starts to change and although there is nothing in bloom in my garden, I still keep thinking I smell flowers. The bees and the hummingbirds are back. Come to think of it, they never went away.

We really didn't have a winter this year -- I have a tree in my back yard that never lost its leaves. That's not good. This is most definitely a deciduous tree. I think we had all of one hard freeze. Maybe two. It is so dry.

I've been working a few hours every day in the garden this week. This is the first year that I haven't had any big plans for the spring. But if we're moving, there isn't much sense in doing a lot of planting. Even so there's always so much to do in the yard. A lot of plants need repotting -- a few need to be composted. I'm doing a lot of evaluating what would go and what should stay.

It's odd to think this might be the last time I prepare this garden for spring.

Anyway, on the writing front I had quite a shock when I opened the file to Winter Kill and realized the plot was WAY too similar to a proposal I have out. So that had to be totally reworked. But I already like my new crazy idea so it turns out I'm still on track.

What do you have planned for the months ahead? What are you planting this spring, be it animal, mineral or vegetable?

The Coincidental Killer

I’ve been researching  serial killers this week. It’s not one of my favorite things.

 

Not that I don’t enjoy the chilly creepy pleasure of the occasional serial killer thriller, but too often serial killers are used as a means of having to avoid writing a real mystery. These fictional serial killers always make it easy for the detectives by contacting them first because they’ve inevitably formed a weirdo attachment and they’re planning the de rigueur cat and mouse game in which the serial killer does all the real work.

 

I’m not saying that can’t be entertaining. Sometimes it’s very entertaining. There’s a reason serial killer stories continue to sell well.

 

Part of the horror of real life serial killers is that -- like other forces of nature -- there’s no real way to guard against being randomly targeted by a lunatic. That’s also part of the fascination. It’s like spontaneous combustion. The chances of it happening are phenomenally slight, but at the same time there aren’t any real preventative measures you can take. Don’t eat too many jalapeño peppers?

 

Well, let me qualify, there aren’t any real preventative measures beyond the preventative measures we all hopefully take on a regular basis. Lock your doors, don’t walk alone at night down a dark alley, etc.

 

What is more preventable are the crimes that occur simply out of bad luck and the opportunity for evil. The night you have a fight with your boyfriend and go to a bar...and end up giving a stranger a ride home...that's arguably preventable. But someone’s car breaking down on a lonely stretch of highway -- nine times out of ten this results in nothing more than a long walk and a lousy night. But every so often, bad luck and evil collide.

 

Black coincidence. A different day, a different hour, sometimes a matter of minutes can make the difference between life and death.

 

Of course fiction is not real life and the number of coincidences a reader can swallow are fewer than might occur in real life.

 

Also, although smart people do dumb things, in fiction the dumb things have to be believably dumb. Also limited in scope and few in number.

 

Anyway, I’m not sure what my point was. The fact that humans are capable of vile and depraved action is not news. Humans are also capable of heroism and self-sacrifice. Evil and insanity are over-represented in fiction. From a reading standpoint, I prefer small, intimate stories over grand scale slaughter. Motive is the single most interesting element to me in any crime story. Crazy is not a motive. But when you write, you have to mix it up.

What do you love in mystery stories? What makes your scalp tingle and your pulse thump?  Do you intricate puzzles or romantic cozies or bloody thrillers?

What I Did on My Winter Vacation

This post is a little overdue -- mostly because I wasn't sure what I was going to say!

Generally, around this time of year I share my writing plans for the months ahead. With various degrees of accuracy. Midway through last year I was planning on 2015 being a very busy and very prolific year (much like 2014 was turning out to be with three full-length novels, two novellas, and an Advent Calendar as the end score).

However, as the year wound down and I began to evaluate the past months, I came to the conclusion that it was time to consider long term strategy.

The thing about publishing right now is we're all -- at least those of us without seven figure advances to keep us afloat -- on a hamster wheel. We're writing constantly in order to keep up that steady influx of cash. Which a lot of the time is fine for someone like me who really doesn't know what to do with myself if I'm not writing.

But this is a different kind of year. I plan to travel and I want to buy a new house. And those are both time consuming -- thought consuming -- things.  But more importantly, last year I was ablaze with creativity and the drive (need) to write. I don't feel that at the moment.

I'm not burnt out -- I know only too well what that's like -- but I'm just not ready to write. I suppose part of it is just the projects that I do have planned for this year are a little more complicated. They require more research and more prep than usual.

And that's a good thing. Both for me and for you.

So...fewer but bigger projects for 2015.

Winter Kill (Spring/Summer)
Jefferson Blythe, Esquire (Fall/Winter)
A charity short for the Trevor Project

And...that's about it as far as for-sure projects this year. And once upon a time, two full length novels would have been a very reasonable year's output.

Not anymore.

Are two lonely little releases reasonable during a year when I will have unusually high expenses? I really had to stop and give that some thought because how much I earn is dependent on how much I produce. New release equals big influx of cash. No new release means long stretches of juggling.

What I concluded was...quality of life and quality of work have to be paramount. Always. Also there's no point in being self-employed if I have no more control over my fate than when I worked for someone else.

But there's more to it than that. There is the ever-present and looming shadow of the hamster wheel. We (every indie writer I know) are all on it and most of us are running at top speed and going nowhere. We're not looking beyond selling lots of books in the short term followed by vague dreams of eventual "mainstream success" (whatever that means -- I don't think most writers have a clue).

There has to be a long term strategy. We all need a long term strategy. And I think, as with financial investments, the key here is diversity. I need space in this year's schedule to try (or at least consider) other possibilities. Non fiction? Other fiction? I have no idea. And I have no idea because I never have time to stop long enough to think about it -- but thinking about it, mulling over the possibilities is half the fun. That's the root of creativity right there: what if?

So this is my What If year. There will be stories -- probably more than I anticipate at this moment (because, like I said, I basically don't know what else to do with my time besides write) -- and I hope they'll prove as satisfying to read as I believe they will be to write.

We shall see what we shall see...